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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26177167">The Unscenes</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeriEsle/pseuds/NeriEsle'>NeriEsle</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, M/M, Pining, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Season/Series 03, Post-Season/Series 04, Pre-Slash, reunion scene</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 04:21:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,482</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26177167</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeriEsle/pseuds/NeriEsle</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Sherlock ficlets from my Tumblr, from over the years. I want a place to have them all together. I hope to add more, as the ideas, scenes, thoughts strike. They're what-if scenarios, unseen moments, wonderings about the possibilities in the future, and just a bit of play and exploration of these characters in this story.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sherlock Holmes/John Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. An Early Reveal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>What might have happened, if Sherlock had revealed himself to John in the cemetery after the jump?</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The hand tremor. Visible even from across the cemetery. Visible to one pair of eyes.</p>
<p>This was… not good. Not even Mummy had shown such pure, honest, exposed grief or emotion on his behalf, ever. She’d always been kept from the worst of it by Mycroft. But this… this was the first time he’d ever hurt someone and had their pain thrown in his face, unable to hide from it, unable to ignore it or wish it away.</p>
<p>Without realizing it, he took a step forward, out from the trees. Then another. Another. Twigs cracked beneath his shoes. Part of him was doing it on purpose. He was always good at sneaking up on suspects. But the voice in his head, the one that had changed without him realizing, no longer cold and clipped and scornful, but instead gentle yet firm, kind yet unwavering, teasing yet affectionate, told him sneaking up on a grieving John Watson would be more than a Bit Not Good.</p>
<p>He stood far enough that a normal person might look right past him if they were too lost in their own thoughts and feelings. But John Watson was not a normal person. An idiot, to be sure, but an idiot who was always aware of his surroundings, knew when he was being watched, and who would never not see Sherlock. He saw things in Sherlock that even Sherlock didn’t see in himself. That’s what made John so….</p>
<p>Sherlock took a deep breath, his heart fluttering oddly, like it used to when he’d spot his old cocaine dealers and know from just a look that theirs was the purest stock.</p>
<p>He watched John’s head lift, look straight ahead of him. His head turned slowly… slowly to the right, over his shoulder, and good heavens, he must be doing this on purpose, being so unbearably slow so as to drive Sherlock insane, to force Sherlock to stride up to the man and grab him by the shoulders and scream in his face “Look at me, John, I’m not dead!”</p>
<p>When John’s eyes finally found Sherlock and locked on him, Sherlock felt like his joints had frozen. He couldn’t move. It was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Leave it to John Watson to immobilize Sherlock Holmes.</p>
<p>John also seemed frozen as he stared at Sherlock. He seemed to just stop. He wasn’t breathing. It felt like ten seconds passed where John stared at Sherlock, and Sherlock stared back, neither of them moving.</p>
<p>Then John’s chest and shoulders deflated, his jaw dropping as the air rushed from his lungs, then was immediately sucked back in. His hand… the one with the tremor… came up to his mouth briefly, then dropped back to his side in a fist. And his eyes, still locked on Sherlock, went wide then slack then tense, and even Sherlock, sociopath that he tried to be, could read the shock, disbelief, relief, joy, confusion, anger, hurt, and pride in them.</p>
<p>And then John was walking over to him. Slow at first, then long, purposeful strides, and Sherlock could not walk away, nor could he think of anything clever or disdainful to say, and John’s fists were clenched at his sides, his jaw clenched, eyes hard and focused, and he was right in front of Sherlock, drawing his left fist back, and Sherlock, unblinking and unwavering, still looking into John’s blazing eyes, prepared for the punch…</p>
<p>The wind was knocked out of him, but it wasn’t a punch; it was a full-body attack. No, not an attack, a…</p>
<p>John had thrown his arms around Sherlock’s shoulders, and was squeezing the life out of him.</p>
<p>It was not unpleasant. Not at all.</p>
<p>Sherlock could feel the tremors running through John’s body, feel his chest heaving with gasps and cut-off sobs. He squeezed even tighter, his fingers digging into Sherlock’s back.</p>
<p>Unsure how to react, Sherlock brought his arms up to rest around John’s waist, then back. That felt… Good. Right. Sherlock tightened his own grip.</p>
<p>It was a hug. A long, gripping hug, and Sherlock was in no rush to relinquish.</p>
<p>But when John’s tremors stopped and his body lost most of its rock-hard tension, he pulled back. Sherlock nearly protested, but then a strong, calloused hand gripped Sherlock’s neck and he got a nose-full of John’s scent of tea and leather and aftershave and John when warm lips were pressed against his cheekbone in a fierce kiss.</p>
<p>Time seemed to stop or skip for Sherlock (not unlike the time he’d received an electric shock from loose wires in a puddle and came to on his back, gasping for breath, and unsure of how much time had passed). And John was pulling back, not letting go as his hands still gripped Sherlock’s collar and the front of his coat as if unwilling to separate from him.</p>
<p>“You… you… you fucking… bloody… goddamn… arsehole… wanker… tit… mother…..”</p>
<p>“Really John, your vocabulary has quite simply flourished during my brief absence.”</p>
<p>John’s fists on Sherlock’s collar clenched so his knuckles were white, and this would be it, this would be when John punched him…</p>
<p>But then John ducked his head, and to Sherlock’s horror it sounded like he was sobbing, and when John lifted his head tears were indeed streaming down his red face, but he was grinning and it didn’t sound like sobs, it sounded like his laughter, his wonderful bubble of laughter. Sherlock was so relieved, he felt his face split into a grin, and he joined in, his chest releasing a tension he never realized he had, and he bowed his head, laughing along with John, who leaned forward wearily and rested his forehead on Sherlock’s collarbone. Without realizing it or meaning to, Sherlock found himself ducking his head down and brushing his lips over John’s soft, clean hair. John didn’t pull away, and Sherlock closed his eyes, shoulders sagging in relief. They stayed there, entwined and leaning together, for a long, long time.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>After 2 years pretending to be dead, how did Sherlock imagine his reunion with John would go?</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I had this idea while rewatching The Empty Hearse: How did Sherlock imagine his reunion with John would go? He seemed naively excited, so I wanted to explore what he may have been expecting.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He had absolutely no doubt that he’d be warmly welcomed back, that John would be delighted to see him.</p>
<p>He would whip off the glasses and “Surprise!” and John would do a double take. His mouth would drop open in shock, Sherlock would barely be able to contain his grin, and John would leap to his feet in delight.</p>
<p>“Sherlock!” he’d exclaim. “Is that you?! Is that really you?” He might give Sherlock a light shove, but part of Sherlock expected to feel John’s strong hands clamp down on his shoulders, squeezing briefly before maybe being pulled into a hug. “Where have you been, you mad bastard?” he’d demand, thumping his back with his fist, like he’d done that one time they’d encountered the American soldier he’d served with and greeted as an old friend.</p>
<p>John’s voice would be filled with joy and laughter, and he’d release Sherlock and hold him at arm’s length, studying him from head to toe, trying and adorably failing to deduce Sherlock’s journey.</p>
<p>“Oh John, I couldn’t possibly explain it all now,” Sherlock would feign indifference and nonchalance. He’d heave a great sigh and adopt a tired, faraway look. “So many cities, so many idiots all over the world. Really, it would take hours and hours to explain.” And he’d wink.</p>
<p>John would like that. He had liked that before.</p>
<p>“Why… I’ve got all night!” John would declare, tossing his napkin onto the table and gesturing to the restaurant’s exit. They’d stroll right past the faceless figure of John’s “date”, but John wouldn’t notice because he’d be gazing at Sherlock, eyes sparkling, smile wide with delight, and Sherlock would stop outside the restaurant, John by his side, his arm brushing Sherlock’s.</p>
<p>“Chinese?” Sherlock would suggest. John would certainly appreciate that. He had appreciated that before.</p>
<p>And Sherlock would explain while they walked… yes, walked, Sherlock needed to feel the streets of London beneath his feet, needed to hear John’s steps beside him… to the Chinese restaurant they’d frequented after their first case… that ridiculous Study in Pink. He’d tell John all about his adventures and travels, and John would ask the perfect questions to highlight how brilliant Sherlock had been, and he’d say so. He’d call Sherlock “brilliant” and “amazing” and “fantastic” and “spectacular”, and scarf down his dinner while Sherlock stole his sesame chicken when John paused to question him.</p>
<p>And they’d stroll home… to 221b Baker Street… and Sherlock would time it so that they’d arrive when Mrs. Hudson was normally out visiting Mrs. Turner, and they’d go to the sitting room and they’d sit in their chairs across from each other, and Sherlock would pour them glasses of the leftover brandy hidden in the back of the corner cabinet, and he’d finish his tale (leaving out Mycroft’s involvement in that disastrous Serbian fiasco). Then he’d heave a great sigh, turn up his hands, and finish with “And here we are.”</p>
<p>And John would marvel and shake his head slowly, awed and amazed and so happy to be back, and ready to begin their work again.</p>
<p>And Sherlock would admit (with the help of the brandy) that he did not enjoy most of his time away. That often, he had been…</p>
<p>John could supply the correct word. He was good at that.</p>
<p>And Sherlock would say that the Work was not all that mattered anymore. That there were other things… a person… that turned out to be quite as important…</p>
<p>John would understand. He was good with feelings and sentiment and the messier side of the mind.</p>
<p>And John would have had enough brandy that his delight at having Sherlock back again would turn into that same attraction he’d felt and tried to hide since that first day.</p>
<p>And maybe John would rise from his chair, stand before Sherlock, reach out a hand that Sherlock would take, pull Sherlock to his feet, reach up on his adorable tiptoes, cup Sherlock’s flushed face with his calloused, strong hands, run his thumbs over Sherlock’s too-prominent cheekbones, and press his warm, brandy-wet lips against Sherlock’s cool, waiting ones.</p>
<p>Maybe he’d even pull back enough to whisper, “It’s all fine.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>....but it didn't go that way, did it.  :(</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Rainy Day Refuge</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Visiting his sister in Sherrinford is never easy. The first time, with his parents in tow, is nearly unbearable.</p>
<p>Fortunately, there's John.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I always imagined that Sherlock's visits to Sherrinford were emotionally draining for him. John knows this. How does he help Sherlock cope?</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first time Sherlock visits Sherrinford voluntarily, he is with his parents and Mycroft.</p>
<p>Mummy cries when she sees her little girl, no longer little, yet just as fragile. True to Mycroft’s words, Eurus is unresponsive. Unreachable. A body with no soul. No eye contact, no movements, no signs of life.</p>
<p>When they leave, many hours later, it is cold and raining, and Mummy and Daddy are both weeping, and Mummy says it’s like she’s lost her little girl all over again.</p>
<p>When they land in London and Mycroft drives his parents home, Sherlock stands in the rain for several more minutes, staring after the car, yet not seeing anything.</p>
<p>He’s soaking wet before he feels his phone vibrating continuously in his pocket. When he pulls it out, he sees a series of texts he just now receives, as his phone gains reception again.</p>
<p>
  <em>I have a whole freezer full of food. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Sympathy food. I forget when someone dies, people like to feed the bereaved. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Three quiches. Four pots of baked food. Cant tell what it is, it’s all mixed together. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Five fruit cakes. Five. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Come over when you’re back. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>You can experiment on the fruit cake if you help me eat the frittata. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>It’s good frittata. Even Rosie likes it. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>You can deduce who baked what. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>It’s pissing out so we can’t go to the park. Rosie is furious. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Confused her with you for a moment. She crawls over furniture same as you. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Just text me when you’re back. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Hurry before the fruitcake thaws. </em>
</p>
<p>Sherlock’s chest feels warm.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>He’s still soaked when he knocks on the door to John’s house.</p>
<p>John opens the door and stares. His eyes take in Sherlock’s clothes to his face. His lips part in sympathy, but he says: “Didn’t realize you swam to the island.”</p>
<p>Inside, John takes Sherlock’s coat and pushes him upstairs into the spare bedroom with a change of clothes. John’s clothes are, of course, too short, but his slippers are fluffy, and when Sherlock comes back downstairs, wrapped in John’s biggest, warmest jumper, longest tracksuit pants, and roomiest dressing gown, he feels the muscles in his back and shoulders loosen.</p>
<p>He sits on the couch, and Rosie, delighted, crawls over to him and grips his leg to pull herself up. He lifts her onto the couch, and she settles next to him, showing him her new book, which mainly consists of colorful barn animals with their names written below them.</p>
<p>A steaming bowl is set on the coffee table before Sherlock, and John sits beside him, a mug in his hands.</p>
<p>“Not good?” he asks, his voice soft, grimace ready on his face.</p>
<p>“Very not good,” Sherlock mutters, staring, unseeing, at Rosie’s book.</p>
<p>“Your hair is dripping.” John sets his mug down and gets up. He returns a moment later and stands behind the couch where Sherlock is sitting, a towel in his hands, and begins drying Sherlock’s hair. Only he doesn’t just dry it; he slowly, carefully, and methodically massages the towel around Sherlock’s head, pressing over the ears, running the towel over Sherlock’s scalp with his fingers spread, rubbing circles around either side of the top of his neck.</p>
<p>Trying not to utter an indecent moan with Rosie sitting right beside him, Sherlock closes his eyes and tips his head back into John’s hands, unraveling under his ministrations.</p>
<p>The warmth of John’s hand lays on Sherlock’s forehead, smoothing the hair back in soft, small, repetitive motions that make Sherlock swallow hard and keep his eyes closed, breathing through the burning in his nose.</p>
<p>Something painfully soft presses against Sherlock’s forehead for a moment, and he tightens his own lips, afraid their trembling will give him away.</p>
<p>“Will take a while to dry those clothes,” John murmurs. “Best stay here for the night. This is the most content Rosie has been all day, so you’re not allowed to leave.”</p>
<p>“If I must.” Sherlock prays John can’t hear the rasp in his voice.</p>
<p>John gives Sherlock’s hair one more scruff with the towel, then moves around the couch and settles down beside him. “Rosie, show Sherlock the animal sounds.” John picks up the remote and turns the telly on low.</p>
<p>Sherlock lifts Rosie onto his lap so they can both stare down at her book as she points and babbles nonsense words. Sherlock repeats the words correctly and slowly, over and over so Rosie mimics as best she can, and John chuckles and smiles and sits right next to Sherlock so their arms and legs press together. And when Rosie grows tired of the books and words and rests against Sherlock, limp and trusting and heavy-eyed as the quiet telly glows in the darkening room, Sherlock sighs a tired yet contented sigh, sliding down on the couch and tipping his head sideways so it rests on John’s soft, jumper-covered shoulder. He feels that unbearably soft sensation press against his head again as his eyes slide closed and he lets himself melt and think only of how comfortable and safe and content and grateful he is now, in this wonderful, warm moment.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>You can't tell me this didn't happen.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"Cuddling," John informs him, typing away on his laptop, one painful key at a time. "The colloquial term is cuddling."</p>
<p>Written as a fix-it to an angsty prompt on Tumblr, in which Sherlock and John are super awkward and uncomfortable after accidentally cuddling while sharing a bed the night before.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I had to write the Fix-It to awkward-morning-after-accidentally-cuddling-in-their-sleep-because-There-Was-Only-One-Bed.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Late that evening, John leaves.</p>
<p>“Going for a pint with Greg,” he called over his shoulder while practically fleeing down the steps, and Sherlock had to suppress the urge to launch off the couch after him. Where had that urge come from? Sherlock settles back on the couch, fingertips together against his lips, and thinks.</p>
<p>John left wearing his normal, boring shoes and unimpressive, unwashed trousers. Not date trousers, not case trousers. He left his Sig upstairs and took his least-reliable jacket. So it’s a normal, boring night of drinks and sports and people in a pub. Pedestrian and predictable.</p>
<p>Except.</p>
<p>Nothing about today has been predictable. Sherlock remained in the living room all day, lying on the sofa, creating nasty smells and annoying noises with his experiments in the kitchen, going through emails and pronouncing them all “boring!”. That was normal.</p>
<p>John hadn’t said a word to him all day. Hadn’t even looked at him.</p>
<p>John had skipped breakfast. John had showered, dressed, opened his emails with his back to Sherlock, tried to read but in reality stared at the same page for about an hour, went upstairs, came back down later, tried to watch telly with the volume far too loud, went downstairs to visit Mrs. Hudson, then finally fled the flat with the excuse of meeting someone named “Greg”, whoever that was.</p>
<p>Classic signs of avoidance.</p>
<p>Why would John be avoiding Sherlock, if not in reaction to having wrapped himself around his flatmate in his sleep?</p>
<p>Sherlock felt his stomach drop, but took a deep breath and sank into his Mind Palace.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>“Cuddling,” John informs him, typing away on his laptop, one painful key at a time. “The colloquial term is cuddling.”</p>
<p>“What parents do to their offspring to create a physical bond,” Sherlock recites, sitting closed-eyed on the sofa, his hands posed as if in prayer in front of his lips.</p>
<p>“And what lovers do with each other to express affection and physical closeness,” John continues, no interruption to his God-awful slow typing.</p>
<p>“Lovers,” Sherlock scoffs. After a moment, his eyes fly open. “Is that what you’re afraid of? That we would now be classified as lovers?”</p>
<p>John chuckles, not looking up from his laptop screen. “Classified? Really, Sherlock. You can’t possibly be as ignorant as you’re pretending to be about cuddling.”</p>
<p>“I’m not pretending. I have insufficient data.”</p>
<p>“Janine not one for physical affection, was she?”</p>
<p>Sherlock freezes, mouth open, ready to retort. After a moment, John looks up from his laptop and smiles at him.</p>
<p>“I was faking with Janine,” Sherlock scowls.</p>
<p>“She wasn’t your girlfriend?”</p>
<p>“Fake girlfriend. Irrelevant.”</p>
<p>“Not irrelevant, Sherlock. Data.”</p>
<p>“She initiated. I reciprocated, only to further the illusion of affection and romance.”</p>
<p>“And how did she react?”</p>
<p>“You saw her go into the bathroom while I was naked in the tub, John, what do you think?”</p>
<p>John just watches him, patient as ever.</p>
<p>“She thought we were dating!” Sherlock finally snaps. “She thought we were in love, otherwise she’d never have let me into Magnussem’s office! My… cuddling with her furthered her romantic feelings. But not mine!” Sherlock continues, furiously. “It didn’t work on me! I don’t work that way, John!”</p>
<p>“You seem upset, Sherlock.”</p>
<p>“I’m not!”</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>The buzzing of Sherlock’s phone nearly gives him a heart attack as he is wrenched out of his Mind Palace. He is vaguely aware that he’s been in his mind palace for about an hour before all thoughts flee when he sees it’s John texting him.</p>
<p>
  <em><strong>Sorry if I’ve been weird today. Usually if I’m sharing a bed with someone, I end up sleep-cuddling them. Forgot about that habit until this morning. Hope you weren’t scared off.</strong> </em>
</p>
<p>Sherlock stares and stares. Obviously, this has taken John some liquid courage. But… he hopes Sherlock hasn’t been scared off, which means he doesn’t want Sherlock to leave! Sherlock doesn’t hesitate to reply.</p>
<p>
  <em><strong>I wasn’t scared off. -SH</strong> </em>
</p>
<p>Sherlock waits with baited breath, and barely a minute later, he receives:</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <strong>Oh, ok good. You seemed tense, so I wasn’t sure. </strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p>Sherlock bites his lip.</p>
<p><em><strong>I was concerned you’d mistaken me for</strong></em> – he pauses for a moment, then – <em><strong>someone else, and might be disconcerted when you woke. -SH </strong></em></p>
<p>
  <em>
    <strong>You’re far too bony to be mistaken for anyone else. </strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p>Sherlock doesn’t realize he’s grinning until it starts to make his cheeks ache. He slumps down on the sofa, gazing at the soft glow of his phone before it beeps again.</p>
<p>
  <em><strong>I’m famished, so I’ll get us Thai on the way home. Unless you want something else?</strong> </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em><strong>Not hungry. -SH</strong> </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em><strong>Your stomach was rumbling all night, you twat.</strong> </em>
</p>
<p>Sherlock lets out a laugh… a full-bellied, relieved laugh.</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <strong>You were snoring too loud to hear anything -SH </strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <strong>I don’t snore. I’ve never snored. </strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <strong>You’ve always snored -SH </strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p>Sherlock freezes again. Has he revealed too much?</p>
<p>John’s text does take a bit longer to come, and by the time it does, Sherlock is nearly coiled like a spring in anxiety.</p>
<p>
  <em><strong>Buy earplugs, then.</strong> </em>
</p>
<p>Sherlock’s fingers are unsteady as he types back</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <strong>Invest in nose strips -SH </strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <strong>Invest in socks, so your icy feet stop waking me up at 4am. </strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <strong>Buy them yourself, if my feet bother you so much. -SH </strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <strong>You have an entire sock index! </strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p>And on and on it went. By the time John arrives home with two bags of takeaway, he’s laughing at the text Sherlock had just sent about Mycroft’s sleeping habits, and when they sit down in their respective chairs, eating Pad Thai out of the box and arguing over the benefits of sleeping on the back versus on the side, John’s laugh-crinkled eyes remain firmly locked with Sherlock’s.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>they def cuddle again.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>More scenarios and short scenes to come!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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